In a hotel room in Singapore,
you were fifteen. No adults.
You fell asleep in your blue tankini
pink flowers on the edges,
the TV on. When you woke up
your cousin was touching you. I know
what that is like: how small you get
and don’t say anything, too small
to say anything, self a hard white
stone the size of a fingernail
and the body not yours, useless,
sending shudders through you
when you’re touched
or not touched, for years afterward. It went on
for an hour while you pretended
to sleep. You wished instead
someone you love had died
because there could be light …

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